Nice Guy
by ivan n'scent
Summary: Don't make me say things I couldn't afford to say.


**Nice Guy**

* * *

The first time they actually talked was not one of the typical talks he would usually do with other people.

It was almost the end of fall, and the sun was setting. The sky was a mixture of orange and red and yellow, nasty beige clouds spread across the horizon. The cries of the seagulls echoed above them, calling out to other birds. Their town was located near the sea, so perhaps hearing the crashing waves at the silence of the sunset was pretty normal. It was then their first time talking to each other, both of them were around twelve or thirteen.

"I'm a fucking hypocrite. You better stay away from me," – that was his opening remark. He said it while his head was stooped, shadows casting over his eyes while the sun was climbing down the horizon. He was a mere adolescent and yet he cursed like an adult. She could clearly remember how the orange afterglow made his ginger hair seemed brighter, and she would never forget how he yelled at her to run away from him.

"I give no _ducks_ ," – this was what she said in return, her voice dull and flat. It was nippy that afternoon, the whole day was, because fall was about to end. The girl remembered the weather news earlier that day forecasting that winter season would kick in sooner or later. She probably wouldn't spend the next fall here again.

"Don't talk to me when you can't even say the word _fuck,_ " he laughed bitterly as he removed his yellow-framed spectacles. "I don't have time for people who can't swear properly. You're fucking pretentious and I hate people like you! Acting nice and all!"

She guessed he was just eager to drive her away. Those words stung as though they were slapped on her face. Because, get real, that wouldn't be the nicest thing to hear from a stranger. If she would give in to his insults and, indeed, run away instead, that would defeat the purpose why she chased him after witnessing a weird accident in the park. The girl, nosy though she was, just wanted answers from him.

"You hate pretentious people...I see. So you hate yourself that much, huh?" she shrugged, and he hissed. The girl shrugged once more and turned to take her leave. Perhaps admitting one's defeat wouldn't be so bad, especially when coming across natural borne assholes like this boy.

"I don't give a fuck," – was his parting message. Unbeknownst to him, they would not meet again until four years later.

* * *

"V Flower," she said and perched carelessly on the metal railing outside the cafeteria of her new high school. She knew that this redhead girl was making a face now after her question was answered. The girl asked for her name, so she replied with no hesitation. As stupid as it sounded, she was named like that. _V Flower. Capitalize_ the first two letters since it was typed that way on her birth record. "Oh, you can call me _vy_ or something if you find it uncomfortable to say," she added, looking briefly at the redhead before looking away. "Or _Flower_ , whatever. It doesn't really matter."

The soccer field looked a lot more interesting than this girl's face, or any face at that matter. She kind of... _disliked_ ginger-haired people a little too, after encountering a rude one during her good old days.

V Flower could not understand why it seemed like she was a magnet to redheads. Not a chic nor a dude magnet, of course. She was far from being a looker – or at least that was what she thought – and redheads were not really her type. It was just wherever she would go, redheads would keep on appearing out of nowhere to mess up her life in one way or another.

The girl with long red hair hummed her assent as she leaned forward the railing, her elbows on it and her chin on her woven fingers. " _Vy_ , all right! I'll call you Vy. By the way, my name's _Miki_ and we have AP Literature together."

The soccer ball flew swiftly in the air, like a shooting star traveling diagonally, until it went past the goal keeper and crashed against the net. Flower flinched at the goal, knowing that the goal kick was just a lucky one. A kind of bitter for that point. She mentally cheered for the other team, that was why. Stealing a glance to the girl beside her, she quickly replied, "Man, that sucks." Flower wasn't sure if she meant that for the goal or for the girl. "AP subjects are just...burdensome to me. But then again, good universities won't think you're worth their _names_ if you haven't gone through a rigorous education."

"Ah, so you really are rebellious," Miki laughed at the other girl, gazing blankly at the soccer field. The bright foliage rustled from a distance, she noticed. "I thought it was just your fashion sense, you know, punky-emo thing. Girl, I was wrong," the redhead looked up to her and studied V Flower's long white hair caught up in a high messy ponytail. Noticing a few black locks, she asked, "Did you dye your hair black or did you bleach it?"

"I dye a few locks black. Just for fun," replied Flower, her shoulders slumping down as she rested her elbows on her knees. "My real hair color is platinum blonde, that very pale shade people usually think it is white. I dyed a few locks black 'coz I was protesting to my parents when they told me to transfer in my nanna's place. I think this black streak looks really cool, though?" Flower simply liked weird things.

"You don't like here?" followed-up Miki, interested to know why someone seemingly lenient as this transferee could hate this place.

"Nope," Flower tut-tutted after. "I like here actually. Nanna makes the best cookies but you really don't stay somewhere just to eat cookies all your life, you know. Man, just thinking about eating cookies for the rest of my life gives me diabetes. Anyway, I like the sea and the sunset–this place is really cool, but I hate staying here as well."

"And why is that?" Miki was still staring at Flower when the girl looked down to meet her eyes. The white-haired punk chuckled nervously, scratching the back of her head as she left out the follow up question. Sensing the transferee's discomfort, Miki laughed with her. "Yeah, never mind. Let's go and grab something to eat now. I'll give you a tour as we walk to our next class."

"Alright," Flower nodded and hopped down. She silently followed Miki as she led the way back to the hall. The transferee just sneered as she replayed Miki's question in her mind – _and why is that?_ – why did she hate staying here as much as she liked to stay? Well, she couldn't just talk in depth to people she just met, no?

Flower didn't ponder and decided to study the place instead. The overall architecture of the school resembled a coliseum. It was one huge compound with circular buildings and rounded roofs which looked more like inverted smiles. There were glasses everywhere, glass walls and windows, making the whole place somewhat minimalist and, obviously, modern. Outside the learning buildings was the wide – _super_ wide – fields Flower never taught could exist. That was an exaggeration, surely, since her old school in the city was rather small and cramped. They didn't even have a pool back there, so when swimming was being taught...they practiced it in their heads.

Miki pointed out the line for their lunch. Flashing a tight smile, Flower followed the redhead in silence. They didn't speak again – Miki was busy with her phone – so Flower just turned aside to view the soccer field from the glass wall. The sky was vast and blue, while the field was vibrant and green. The boys, whatever grades they were from, continued to play under the high noon sun as though the heat wasn't bothering them. Yes, it was noon-time, but everything looked so calming during spring. Flower knew the feeling of the noon sun on a spring day, because she used to play lacrosse in her old elementary school. The girl smiled as the memory crossed her mind–the gentle breeze against her face as she ran across the field, the cheers of her lousy friends who couldn't do any sport, and the feeling of the cold sweat trickling down the side of her face as she reached the opponent's base while carrying her staff. Yes, spring was a nice season. Her purple irises darted back to the glass wall, craning her neck to see the running track circling the soccer field. Several students were racing there too, and they were quick runners – surprisingly.

Flower caught herself chuckling when another memory flashed in her mind. She knew that it was not the perfect time to reminisce _whatsoever,_ but memories from her middle school came flooding. She remembered one of her friends, Rin Kagamine, one big, crazy idiot who signed up for the track team. That blonde couldn't even do any sport, nor run real quick. Flower was very happy for the girl though, because Rin had something to distract her from bleak world. Every day they would jog early in the morning and late in the afternoon, just before the twilight. She would see the progress in the blonde, how her build looked more healthy and how new colors bloomed from her face. The blonde became livelier than she usually was, and she thought less and less of how tragic her life was, coming from a broken family. Soon, Rin started to tell Flower stories about how the air felt nice and how running made her think nothing but to reach the finish line. Flower began to notice how Rin blamed herself less about her parents' divorce, and all their talks were just filled with the weather, the sky, the season, their stupid friends – and life.

Rin's older brother supported her, too. But he was not that overt or something; Len Kagamine was a member of their high school's basketball team. However one fateful day, during an excursion trip Flower missed because she was ill, the bus they were riding was caught in an accident and Rin was one of those who did not survive. Shortly after that, Rin's brother moved out of their city – or country, Flower wasn't so sure.

It was a great loss, certainly, to lose someone to whom Spring was just beginning. Nevertheless, that blonde airhead taught Flower so much – she taught her how to stop sulking about something done. Flower never felt such extreme sadness before, and yet she just knew that once she found herself into it, that blonde idiot would guide her to light.

Sighing in a relieved way, Flower shook her head and stepped forward as the line adjusted. She stole a glance from the glass wall once more, memorizing the scenery on her first day in her new school. It seemed like she would enjoy this school, hopefully.

"Hey, Vy," called Miki, turning to face Flower in all of a sudden. "Do you plan joining any clubs? I'm from the drama club. Do you like acting or anything related to theater arts?"

"Whoa, cool," Flower said smoothly. She was not into acting or the similar stuff, but she knew the hard work that club was into. One of her lousy friends back in her old school was forced to be a set designer. And the work that dude had done was just... _superb._ "Not really, but I know how hard your work is. Let's say I know someone who's been stuck in that club." Miki blinked blankly at her, completely clueless to whatever she was referring to. "Oh, no–never mind. I think I want to do track-and-field."

"Ah," Miki smiles, flipping her long red hair back. "I see. That suits your image, Vy _._ You look sporty. I'm wondering if you're a runner or something 'cause _wow_ those legs."

Flower glanced down to her legs. She was wearing knee-length jeans she ripped on purpose, and thus exposing her legs. And yeah sure, jogging and lacrosse were now evident on her leg-muscles. Chuckling, Flower admitted that she was a member of her old school's lacrosse.

"Then why not join the same club here?" Miki walked ahead and grabbed a tray for Flower. "Why the track team?"

Once again, Flower found herself laughing awkwardly. She couldn't just say that this was to carry on her late buddy's memory, no? Come on, she wasn't sure if this redhead was even her friend. What she meant was, well, they just met. Today. Miki (the redhead, Flower had to hear her surname yet) was just assigned by the faculty to tour her around the campus.

"Hm, nothing really. I felt like trying new things, _psh_ ," she thanked Miki for the tray and they went forward to receive their lunch. "What made you join the drama club, Miki?"

"Me? Oh, I love stories. I like writing, you see." The two of them moved to the next station where the middle-aged woman behind the counter placed a slice of cake on their trays. "And I like watching how people act them out, give them life. It amazes me, that is all."

"So...you're like, writing scripts for the club?"

"No," Miki chuckled and pointed her chin to the tables behind them. "I'm helping the production team for some time already. The head writer told me that I still got lots to learn so she was coaching while I help the set designers."

"Aw, boo. That's sad," Flower blurted out due to lack of...appropriate response. The two sat on opposite seats gracefully.

"Don't say that," interrupted the bubbly redhead. "I think it's really fun, though. And I get to learn from someone who's like a pro in writing. That's the good side of it. And it's not like they're trying to tear me away from something I really like to do."

 _Or you're just too positive that you miss their malevolence,_ Flower thought to herself. Malevolence was a bit too much but then again, Flower wasn't exactly a _word person. Whatever._ Her idiotic friend in the past said the same lame excuse when she tried to convince him quitting. Anyway, listening to the redhead as she blabbed about the drama club urged Flower to make face–mentally. _How naive. She's so nice, it hurts my eyes –_ again, it was her mind being mean.

"Moreover," Miki raised a tone to show emphasis. " _If you don't love what you do, it's not right for you._ Choose something you really enjoy doing, Flower. Look at me, though technically we can say I'm on an...ugh...apprenticeship, I'm still having fun with my part-time club activity."

" _If you don't love what you do..._ that sounds awfully familiar. Like 'twas from some The Script song," Flower smiled as she grabbed the spoon and began with her food. "Anyway, yeah I agree. But I really like track-and-field. It's just...lacrosse came into picture first? And does it really matter? Both includes _running_ so yeah, I'm fine with it. Besides, I haven't signed up yet, have I?"

Flower and Miki laughed together. It was such a nice feeling to get along with someone you just met, especially if it would be a nice person like Miki. Though Flower often caught herself uncomfortable when the redhead _unintentionally_ probed further, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to just _remain_ as acquaintances just yet.

The two were comfortably quiet as they finished off their meals when a loud noise started a scene in the cafeteria. It hurt Flower's ears to listen to the clattering of the utensils together with a girl's squeaky scream. Turning heads to find the source of ruckus, Flower and Miki saw a group of boys gawking at the girl on the ground. She was busy picking up the utensils, while the boys gasped and muttered how unfortunate the situation was.

"What happened? Nobody's helping the gal," Flower stood from her seat to get a better view of the scene. The crowd's starting to gather around them now.

"Ah, looks like the girl's at fault," Miki sighed, focusing back on her lunch. "Don't worry about her. Get back to eating, vy."

Flower chuckled at Miki's passivity. "That won't do. The boys are kind of bullying her. It's not like she spilled something on them. They're exaggerating."

"Keep your cool. I think it's Fukase who was victimized. Those loud guys are just...I don't know, his useless friends? They're like babies. Whining and all," Miki seemed cool about this.

"And who's this _Fukase?_ "

The redhead looked up to meet her purple eyes. "Fukase is the school's _Mr. Nice Guy_. He's kind to the bones and bone marrow so worry not. Look, watch 'em," Miki joined Flower as they both stared at the scene.

Another redhead appeared in Flower's life. A guy with flaming red hair smiled to the girl and helped her up, the obvious stain on his shirt didn't come unnoticed. Well, mustard on a white shirt. With a few veggies. _Gross,_ Flower cringed. The guy was brushing off the girl's apology, saying it was _completely fine._ On the other hand, the girl looked as though she was about to cry. Flower couldn't blame her, what she did was downright embarrassing.

The white-haired transferee carefully studied the Fukase-guy's reaction, but she ended up assessing his appearance. Pale, tall and fit. The dude was basically glowing as he smiled, and Flower didn't fail to notice how the girls flaunt around him. Yellow-framed glasses and tousled redhair – sure, he looked like a nice guy. However, something felt off about that _smile_...

" _Ducking_ hypocrite!" Flower laughed, unconsciously saying these words louder than she intended. The girl felt many a pair of eyes boring holes through her, including the ones from the main scene in the cafeteria. Her laughter amplified when she saw this _Fukase-d_ ude to look her way, too. And the stupid smile was still plastered on his face. _"Hypocrite,"_ she mumbled and continued to laugh.

"What's wrong?" Miki dragged her away from their table, carefully dodging the deadly glares Flower was receiving from the people in the cafeteria. Miki just pulled her out of the cafeteria when the girl on the hot seat replied nothing but another fit of laughter.

"Man," the tall purple-haired guy standing behind Fukase kept an eye on the weird girl who just yelled _hypocrite._ "Did she just call you ' _hypocrite_ '?"

"Does she even know who is Fukase?" butted in the moss-haired guy, raising a hand to caress his chin. He carefully pushed his thick-framed spectacles back to his nose bridge. "Our Fukase here is far from being a hippopotamus. Who is she, by the way?"

"No, man. It's hypocrite."

"Dynamite?"

"Enough of those, Gakupo. Gumo." The redhead chuckled as he slowly brushed off the stain on his shirt, his hand being a sacrifice. "I need to get in the loo, now."

"I'm really sorry," the girl apologized again, bowing her head too low just to prove how sorry she was. The redhead guessed she was a Japanese. Or a Korean. Or some Asian of that culture. Dismissing her apology for the hundredth time, the redhead turned away to get a change of shirt.

* * *

Fukase splashed a handful of water to his face. The cold liquid dripped from his face, trailing down to his bare neck. When his bare chest was almost soaked as well, he grabbed the towel hanging from the toilet rail and dried himself. That was the time when he faced his reflection. For some reason unknown to him, mirrors were not placed in front the sink like most of the common bathroom designs. His school must have weird reasons why place a mirror behind the sink; well, at the very least it was a full body mirror. It seemed to fit the dance room, though.

His vermilion irises, glued on his reflection, traveled down to stare at his chest and the ugly scar he had right above his heart. He wrinkled his nose as an equally ugly memory flashed in his head upon seeing the scar. Ugly memories, ugly people and ugly hearts. They always come in package.

Fukase turned back from the mirror and walked back to the sink to fetch his yellow-framed glasses left there. He put it on as he rummaged his gym bag open to find a decent shirt to put on. There was a black shirt at the bottom of his bag, concealed underneath his varsity jacket and books for the next class. Without any second thoughts, he pulled out the shirt and put it on.

As the shirt draped on his toned body, a voice rang in his head – it rang louder than the leaking faucet beside him whose drops echoed like a stopwatch counting every seconds. He was to see another ugly memory yet. The loud _hypocrite_ made him cringe, and the face who spoke it was printed on his brain. White hair. Pale skin. Purple eyes. _She_ was here again.

The Fukase known to everyone in the school, the all-smiles guy, shrugged as he shoved his bag on his shoulder and pushed his way out of the empty loo. The door slowly closed behind him as he walked away, darting glances everywhere to find where his friends had gone to.

"Fukase!" The purple-haired guy, Gakupo, waved a hand as he emerged behind the bleachers, around ten meters away from Fukase. "Hurry up, bro. Gumo told me that AP Lit was about to start."

Flashing a grateful grin – because, well, Gakupo stayed to inform him – the redhead ran to catch up on the tall guy's long strides. Fukase dubbed Gakupo as _"daddy long legs"_ simply because he was the tallest, and he was the ace player of the basketball team. Gumo, their other friend, was from the volleyball team. The rest of their friends were either teammates of the two, and only Fukase was a member of a different club. The Astronomy Club.

"Seriously, can't he just tell the teacher you just need to change clothes?" Gakupo whispered as he busily typed on his phone, probably texting Gumo on the other line.

"Let him be. It's not like we're VIP or whatever. School rules are school rules," the redhead chuckled.

Gakupo looked his way, bemused. "Nah, bro. If that clumsy chic didn't run into you, we won't be late. I don't understand why a nice guy like you will always be victimized by these types of girls. Well, maybe because you're nice. Perhaps they're thinking that victimizing you would spark romance–heck, so dreamy."

"Don't say that. I'm sure they don't mean it–"

"See!" Gakupo interjected, dramatically waving his arms in the air. "That's the reason why you're always their target. You're so damn nice!"

"I think it's a complete accident–"

"Bro, no! Where the heck are you looking when that girl crashed to you? That unicorn brat ran into you on purpose."

That silenced Fukase. Well, that scene in the cafeteria was partly his fault too, if Gakupo was right–that the girl ran into her intentionally. Because when he first laid eyes on the cafeteria that moment, his eyes were glued to that very person: white hair, pale skin and purple eyes. And that very moment too, the nice guy facade he was putting on faltered.

 _Fuckshitdammit._

Fukase actually didn't know whether he was surprised or irritated upon seeing her. She was an unforgettable face, sadly, for she witnessed the horror flowing though his arteries and veins. He would never forget how she looked apathetically at him when she cornered him on that alleyway. Those purple eyes, they were curious four years ago. And he knew that this _girl_ would blow up the wall he built in order to avoid harming people.

So, the mustard stained his shirt, along with leafy vegetables the brunette left out on her plate.

He didn't know why but that moment he only wanted to hide away from that girl. After all these years of peace for Fukase, she suddenly appeared. He didn't know her name, but she was probably around his age. Her hair was longer now than four years ago, and she looked...more androgynous this time. Maybe because of her choice of clothing.

The redhead kept his smile when he heard her laugh and shout _hypocrite,_ knowing that she was referring to him. That only proved how she had never forgotten what she saw in the past, no? He couldn't be mistaken when their eyes met. And even behind those glasses, he knew she saw right through him. She remembered him–that boy who killed his stepfather in that desolated part of the children's park.

Gakupo snapped his fingers in front Fukase's face, waking the shit out of him. Startled, the redhead chuckled lubberly. "Sorry. I spaced out."

"What are you thinking?"

"Eh? Nothing." The redhead glanced at the corridors connected to the hallway he was walking on right now, and saw that the students were hurrying to their classes. "Where's the room again?"

"Seriously, you're so hopeless."

Gakupo dragged him to a corridor and after passing by several doors, the two of them barged in a class. The teacher was standing in front, giving them an icy glare as he was about to close the attendance record. Fukase apologized while Gakupo just proceeded to his seat. However, the moment he looked around to find a chair, the only available seat left was beside _her_. She looked surprised too, with those widening purple orbs.

Fukase realized that it was hard to take his steps. He looked around again, praying that there was a seat somewhere else, but found nothing. He felt like making an excuse to leave the class, however the teacher scolded him to take a seat already. The whole class took it as a joke though, because Mr. Nice Guy would always be the _nice guy._ Hence, the redhead stupidly smiled at the teacher before sitting next to the girl.

 _Sitting beside her is fucking the shit out of me. Someone, please, take me away from this torture seat because I don't think I'll last here for an hour or more without losing my cool_ – he gulped. He needed to calm down and relax. It would be all over if she would notice how tense he was. _"Aren't you good in faking everything?"_ his mind mumbled to him. Despite having his eyes on the board, he knew that he wouldn't be able to understand anything today...for she was beside him. And she would remain there to remind him what sort of beast he really was – he always was, matter how hard he tried hiding it.

* * *

Where did they come from? He wasn't so sure either, but he was told that their ancestors were traced back to the Old World, from the extreme northern borders of Scotland. His mom told him the story of their family – beginning from their forefathers.

There was a sole tribe where people of vermilion hair and eyes lived. Redheads were common members of the European folks, but it was the distinct velvety red iris of the tribe that identified them from other Caucasian races. Besides the fiery physical appearance of the people, that tribe was born with a curse. People said it was a power, a blessing from the heavens. However, if it really was a blessing, did the omnipotent being meant it to harm people?

Fukase asked the same question his ancestors asked themselves. As all children linked to the tribe inherited the red hair and eyes, they were born with the special ability their ancestors questioned once. Fukase thought he was an exemption of that power – or curse, nevertheless his mother persisted. She lulled him to sleep with words warning him, asking him to be kind to anyone at anytime, for they were born with something that was meant to hurt people.

"Then what do I have to do, mum?" He would ask her back, but she would just smiled and stroke his hair. "What is this power? I don't think I have one. And we're no longer in the old world. We're in Perth, mum. You were born here, and so was I." He was eight, and yet there was no sign he possessed what his mum talked about. She was eight when she the power manifested in her.

"This is no fairytale," she would say. "Because the real power is in the words you say. It only takes one word to give someone a good reputation, and one word to destroy him."

It never made sense to the young Fukase. Nothing was sensible for him, his mother's words were vague and weird. She would tell him to never get mad – when that was clearly inevitable, and she would ask him to say only nice things to people – and this, too, was hard for he was way too blunt. When his mother remarried in order for them to survive, her reminders changed. "Never wish an ill fate to anyone, Fukase."

And so he did. He never said _bad_ things to people. His mother brought him up to be a nice boy–the all-smile sort of guy. That was until his stepfather started to beat his mother to sleep. The beautiful visage she used to have was now covered with scars and fresh wounds. Her long red hair was cut short by the evil stepfather, and despite all these abuses she received from him, the woman never fought back.

"Never wish an ill fate to people, Fukase. Never," she cried to her son as she held him in her arms. The boy wanted to run out and beat him, too. But really, what could a ten-year old do against a drunken adult? And so, the treatment lasted until he was twelve.

The sun was about to set that time. The afterglow drenched everything with orange, and the cicadas started to sing. He was pulling his weak mother with him, dragging her away from the hell they called house – away from that monster. Fukase knew that there was a part of the playground where they could stay the night. Fukase could not remember anything but the fear, the chill running up his spine and the devilish grin plastered on his stepfather's face while gripping a baseball bat.

"And where do you think are you going, _drongo_?" he chuckled. He was insane, Fukase thought, for this man enjoyed hurting his mother. "Nobody's gonna help you, two-faced ass. I heard you talkin' to yourself, one time. Cursin' and swearin' people you hate most, didn't you? Cursin' me, eh? – Guess what, nobody's gonna help you. You're rellies will give you no aid! Cark it!"

The redhead felt the blood rush to his face, and another surge of warmth flowed through his veins. There was something in him, something compelling that urged him to say the words his mother warned him not to enunciate, ever. The man raised his hand to hit the child, missing the fiery glint in the boy's eyes.

 _"Fuck you, jerk! Die! Die!_ _ **Die!**_ _"_

The time seemed to stop. The boy didn't know what exactly happened but he felt how the hushed rustling of the leaves turned harsh, and how the man dropped the bat he was holding midair. The tall man had his eyes opened wide as he stared at the redhead, a look of disbelief spread on his face. Slowly, he reached up a hand to fist on his chest while uttering unintelligible things. There was nothing around the redhead boy that made sense. Nothing—not even his stepfather's existence. So if it never really meant anything, he wouldn't mind annihilating his existence even if it was just in his mind.

"You don't deserve the life you're enjoying now, so rot! Rot, you pig! _**Rot**_!" Fukase yelled, and upon saying those words, the man his mother married turned into _something_ else. His sun-kissed skin turned reddish-black, his flesh became rotten. Slowly decaying. It was as if he turned into an undead. The man yelled both in anguish and pain as he tried to pick up the bat and hit Fukase. But when the boy yelled for him to back away, the man was sent flying in the air, and fell next to the bushes.

"Fukase," his mother cried and pulled him down to her, stroking his hair like she would usually do. "What did I tell you?"

"I'm not a child, mum. He's beating you to death–"

"Fukase!" his mom yelled, eyes glowing bright red. Tears were still streaming down, feeling sorry for what her son had done. "Didn't I tell you not to say anything like that–"

"Don't talk to me as if I'm a child! I have my own mind! He's hurting you! He's hurting us and I can't take any of that shit anymore!"

His mother grabbed him by his face, squeezing his cheeks a bit forcefully. That weak woman she used to be could not be seen through those hardened eyes. "Promise me that you won't do that again."

"Tell me, mum. How many have you killed in the–" his head turned aside after being slapped, "past..." he realized it now. It finally dawned to him what his mother was always warning him about – that words held power no one thought it could.

Before his mother could lash out her anger after he disobeyed the _only_ thing she reminded him not to do, they heard a yelp from the other side of the desolated park. Looking around, both redheads noticed a white-haired girl staring at the skeleton lying near the bushes. It was not fear that surfaced in the girl's visage—it was curiosity.

"Run, Fukase." His mother slowly stood on her feet, and then pushed the boy away from her. "Run away and never say a bad thing ever."

The boy obliged his mother this time, slowly scurrying away from his mother. Unbeknownst to him, that was the last time he would see his mother and her amiable smile.

* * *

"Are you running away?" Fukase stopped on his tracks as someone spoke behind him. He watched Gakupo and Gumo walked ahead of them, the two waved a hand to their teammates waiting on the opposite end of the hall. He found it hard to gulp, feeling like he was yet to face the most dreadful thing in his life. "You recognized who I am, didn't you? Are you going to push me away like what you did four years ago? I have questions, you know."

"I don't recognize you—" he tried to laugh as he faced her, but it soon faded when he met her purple eyes. Fukase fell silent as his features softened.

"Is that skeleton in the park your plaything? Are you some sort of circus-magician because the woman with you magically disappeared as if she faded like the sea foam? Man, that was one good trick. I've heard that there are a number of people born with _extraordinary_ ability."

The redhead winced, eyes squinting as she continued to talk. _His mother disappeared like that?_ He thought she abandoned him after that incident, that was why his second cousins took him in.

"And I see, do you still hate yourself like you used to?" she grinned at him, caring less about the dirty looks girls of this campus was giving her. She and this redhead were not friends in the first place, but she thought that this was a good opportunity to expose his _dark side._

"I do," he murmured, dodging his eyes. Flower knew that he was faking this "nice guy" reputation he had in the school – well, it was obvious! His smiles never reached his eyes, and he was using only a few of his facial muscles whenever he would smile. There was no activity in his upper face whenever he would smile—as in the case of the cafeteria incident earlier.

"What?" she leaned a little to peer at his expressions, but the redhead stooped and the shadows cast over his eyes. His yellow-framed glasses slid a little till it reached the tip of his nose.

"I still hate myself just like before," Fukase shoved his bag strap on his shoulder. _I still hate myself for I am a beast and no one's safe around me._ This time he lifted his expressionless face to meet her lively one, and he knew he surprised her when his cold, hard stare was directed to the girl. "Don't act as if we're old friends. Don't talk to me again—" _and don't make me say things I could not afford to say._

Fukase turned his back on her, pushing away the first possible friend who could see right through his mask.


End file.
